


A World Without Memory

by tmelange



Series: Forever the Same [4]
Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Angst, M/M, Memory Loss, Plot Intensive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-13
Updated: 2011-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-22 13:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmelange/pseuds/tmelange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <img/>
</p><p>Darkseid kidnaps Superman, brainwashes him into thinking he's his son and orders him to attack Earth. The brainwashing causes Superman to forget everything that he is, but some things should never be forgotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A World Without Memory

**Author's Note:**

> This story is an installment in my _Forever the Same_ series/universe that focuses on the relationship between Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne over the course of many years. Really, this story pretty much stands alone, however, reading other stories in this timeline would likely be helpful. This story takes place in the section of the timeline called _Restoration_ and occurs sometime in the future from the other stories produced in this universe so far.

His cell phone rings. He looks at the caller identification and smiles, small, with a swirl of anticipation tying his stomach in knots. Still, he lets it ring, only answering right before it's about to go to voicemail.

"Bruce."

"Is this a bad time?"

"Don't you know?"

"I took the cameras out of your apartment years ago."

Clark scoffs low, more a snort of disbelief than anything. "So you claimed. I never believed you."

"You never checked?"

"Actually, I didn't really want to know if you were lying. Besides—"

"Besides." A grumble that is deep and just on the dark side of dangerous.

"Nothing you haven't seen before, right? And the thought that you _might_ be watching—" Clark shrugs, his face coloring though there is no one in the darkened apartment to appreciate the gesture or his embarrassment.

Then, a sly admission with no hint of remorse, "Three cameras—living room, bedroom and bathroom. Only images. I did take out the audio."

"So you just lied to me."

"I can't sleep unless I know you're safe. I stay out of your business."

A clenching, around his heart, but he knows the game and he refuses to be swept up again. "And that's supposed to make it okay?"

"You know how I am. I know _you_ know better than to believe me. Is it really lying, or the maintenance of a necessary façade?"

"Sophistry, Bruce? I'm not one of your air-headed charity ball dates—"

"Do you want to be?"

A pause. He was expecting it, but still—

"You want to try this again? For old time's sake—"

"No. Forget the past."

Curiously disbelieving. "Exactly how do we do that?"

"I'll show you."

Clark loosens his tie, and pulls the noose over his head. "This is just you acting out. You decide you want me…then you push me away. I try to leave, you torture me, drive yourself crazy, just to make me stay." He blows a disdainful bit of air through his nostrils as he balances the phone in the crook of his neck and shoulder so he can unbutton his shirt and shrug out of it, leaving it on a bar stool at the counter separating the kitchen from the living room.

"It's over—"

"It's never over." Certainty. Like a brick wall.

"We're finally at a place where we can work together without all of the acrimony, the baggage. The Justice League—we built it. Together. It will be our legacy, Bruce. Isn't that enough?"

"No."

Clark sighs as he fiddles with his belt, unzips his pants. "This is you, reacting to me being skewed to a wall, being pronounced dead by the rest of the League, and spending two weeks with Kryptonite poisoning. I already know how it's going to end this time: with you finding some unique and particularly inventive way to hurt me. I can't—"

"Clark—"

"Not again, Bruce. You have to admit that trying again at this point makes no sense."

Silence. "That's because…"

"Because?"

"I love you, and it has never made **sense**."

A pause to let that sink in. _Manipulative bastard._

"You owe me a second chance."

"A second chance?" Clark pulls the phone away from his ear, staring at it in amazement as he steps out of his pants, striding across the room in boxers and t-shirt and flopping down on the sofa. "Bruce…we've had chance, after chance, after chance. A hundred chances wasted. A hundred false starts—"

"No. Everything that has come before _this_ day, this conversation, has been one long evolutionary act. This is the second act, Clark, where you tell me the truth, and I tell you the truth, and this ridiculous distance between us is ended once and for all. I want you with me. You belong with me."

The truth. Clark supposes out of all the things he has offered Bruce over the years—the love, the trust, the support despite the pain—the truth was the one thing he always parceled out grudgingly. _But it was for his own good._ Besides, sharing _the truth_ with a man like Bruce Wayne is like serving heart and soul on a plate for dessert.

"You've lied to me, Clark—"

"You lie to me all the time—"

_…The One Loved...cherished of the House of El...devotee...to thee devoted..._

Clark flinches at the deep, rumbling baritone reciting perfect Kryptonian.

"You know I tried everything to get these symbols off of my arm. Not even laser removal worked."

"Bruce, I—"

"You owe me a second chance. You owe me the truth."

A hand pulls at his hair. He closes his eyes. Lets the shadows from the declining light through the windows caress his skin, _like the inexorable encroachment of a dark knight._ Lets his head fall back until it encounters the edge of the sofa. Bruce never makes things easy.

"You know how I feel about you—"

"Tell me."

"I love you, Bruce. _I have always loved you._ But I don't want this."

"Meet me."

"I'll see you on Saturday, at the JLA meeting—"

"Not in costume. Just you and me, Clark."

"Bruce—"

"Don't say no."

"Where?"

"On the roof of the _Daily Planet._ Tomorrow. I'll be arriving by helicopter from the U.N. summit."

Mentally, he checks his schedule. "I have a television interview. It'll take most of the day—"

"At five. Bring a change of clothes, and have Steel watch the city."

A sigh. The sure knowledge that this conversation will never end until Bruce has exactly what he wants. "Fine."

"Don't stand me up, Clark."

"I said I'd be there. But you won't change my mind."

"I've already changed your mind."

Clark frowns, shakes his head. Bruce is right, and the worst part is he knows it. Clark never could resist Bruce at his most determined.

"Was this the only reason you called?"

"Just to hear your voice—"

"Okay, now stop it—"

Dry. Amused. "You did ask."

"Good-bye, Bruce." He ends the transmission and places the cell phone on the coffee table before falling back onto the sofa again in defeat. He needs to shower and make dinner, but all he can think about is the sound of a familiar voice, speaking familiar promises, whispering words in a dead language. Fingers through his hair, across a cheekbone, lips, echoes, the ghost of a memory, as he lets his hands roam, under fabric and down. It has been too long—since he's allowed himself to want Bruce. He wonders if it will be different this time. He wonders if Bruce is watching, how well his cameras work through the darkness.

+

Bruce Wayne checks his wristwatch. Forty-five minutes. An unacceptable length of time, even for the Boy Scout. Again, he eyes his cell phone display, fingers tapping buttons, cycling through news, looking for the disaster that would explain the missing Man of Steel, but the news wires are clear, and Bruce has no other option but to consider alternate explanations.

He refuses to consider alternate explanations. Clark may have changed his mind, but he would be man enough to say so to his face. Probably. Most likely.

A hand motion at the pilot, letting him know to start up the helicopter. One last look over the edge of the rooftop, in the shadow of the golden globe, searching the horizon. Needing to know—

From his pocket, another phone. A secure line.

"J'onn."

"Batman—"

"What is the current location of Superman?"

"Is there some sort of a problem?"

"No. I don't know. Just tell me where he is."

"Checking."

J'onn is silent, and Bruce runs through the computer commands in his mind, the ones J'onn would have to use to provide him with the information he needs. It takes another unacceptable length of time.

"That is odd." Finally.

"What?"

"Superman's not on the planet. Checking the quadrant."

Silence.

"He's not in the quadrant."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. Superman's biometric signature is unique—"

"Activate the team link. Try searching for him psychically."

"Batman—"

"Just do it."

"Nothing. He is not within range of my abilities. It is as if—"

"Get everyone to the Watchtower. I'll be there shortly."

He ends the transmission. Takes in the blue of the horizon, _so like his eyes when he first opens them in the morning,_ before turning and jogging for the helicopter. Annoyed. Resolute. If Clark thinks he can dodge their relationship by getting himself kidnapped, he has another thing coming.


End file.
